


The More Things Change

by FinnsKeeper



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Future, Angst with a Happy Ending, Future Fic, Gen, Major Character Injury, Major character death - Freeform, Reincarnation, pretty much all of them - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-25
Updated: 2020-05-25
Packaged: 2021-03-03 04:35:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,922
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24378829
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FinnsKeeper/pseuds/FinnsKeeper
Summary: “It has been several years since we first came to this court and returned your stolen beacon,” Caleb spoke calmly and evenly, even though his heart hammered away in his chest. “And after all of those years, I would like to think we have proven ourselves not only the Heroes of the Dynasty you once proclaimed us, but friends to your people as well.”The Bright Queen nodded solemnly in agreement. “You and yours have performed many great deeds for our people, and I believe we have shown our appreciation many times over.”“You have. But I come to you today with a humble request, one I hope you will consider thoroughly.”“And it is?”Caleb took a deep breath and held his head high. He could show no hesitation or disrespect, but the importance of his request could not be understated. “I would like Beauregard Lionett to be consecuted before her death.”
Relationships: Beauregard Lionett & Caleb Widogast, Beauregard Lionett & The Mighty Nein
Comments: 10
Kudos: 167





	The More Things Change

The teleportation circle flared to life, depositing chaos amid the relative calm of the Lucid Bastion. The seven members of the Mighty Nein appeared in a flash, all of them bloodied and bruised. Veth was cradling her arm close to her body, her crossbow a mangled mess in the crook of her elbow as she leaned on an equally haggard Caleb. The wizard was pale and sweating, his right hand a mess of blood and bone from some terrible crushing injury. Jester and Fjord were supporting each other, only two good legs between them. One side of Fjord’s face was swollen and purpling, and Jester was bleeding profusely from several long gashes across her abdomen and back. Caduceus looked the best of them all, though his usually immaculate fur was singed and patchy from head to toe, and thick patches of blackened skin showed from beneath the bare spots. Yasha looked the worst. Her hair was matted with blood, and there wasn’t an inch of skin that wasn’t spotted or streaked with it. Cuts and wounds dotted her body, and she would likely have succumbed to blood loss if it weren’t for the look of frenzied determination on her face. The reason for her focus lay in the form of an unconscious Beau in her arms, and as the final energies of the teleportation faded, the Mighty Nein burst into action.

“Go fetch a healer,” Fjord barked at the nearest guard. The young drow stared in horror for a moment, then rushed out of the room. The other two Aurora Watch present surged forward to offer assistance, but as they neared Yasha and Beau the larger woman growled in warning.

“We need to get Beau out of here,” Jester gasped, hobbling forward to tug on Yasha’s shoulder. “You’re hurt. Let them help.”

Yasha bared her teeth but let them take Beau’s limp form. The moment the weight was gone she collapsed to one knee, and Caduceus reached down to help her up.

“Here,” he offered, slinging her less injured arm over his shoulders. “Lean on me.” 

The entire ensemble rushed out of the belly of the Lucid Bastion and up through winding corridors to a large room with no windows and a series of single beds. The two guards set Beau down on the nearest one and stepped away as both Jester and Fjord knelt beside her.

“Come on, Beau,” Fjord pleaded. “Wake up.”

Caduceus laid one large hand on her forehead, expending the last of his healing energies into her pale form. There was no change. “I don’t understand,” he murmured. “We’ve healed all of her wounds.”

“It’s no use.” Caleb shuffled away from where he’d deposited Veth onto a nearby bed and came to rest on Beau’s other side. His face was drawn, the deep lines on his face pulled downward in a mask of sorrow and pain. “There’s nothing we can do.”

“No,” Jester shook her head sharply. “I don’t believe that.”

Caleb trembled, and he laid his good hand against Beau’s shoulder just as his strength failed him. He fell to his knees with a stifled sob, his head bowed low. “ _Es tut mir leid_ ,” he whispered. 

“Stop acting like she’s dead,” Yasha roared. “She’s not dead!”

“What even was that?” Veth asked from the next bed over. “I’ve never seen a spell like that before.”

“I don’t know,” Caleb whispered. “It must have been one of his own design. But it felt...final.”

_Trent Ikithon proved to be just as dangerous as Caleb had made him out to be. Though powerful in their own right, the Nein had taken some heavy damage just getting to the man, working through a labyrinth of traps and guards that had depleted their precious resources. Just as they had begun a debate on retreating and coming back another day, Trent had launched an assault of his own._

_Bloodied and beaten, the Mighty Nein rallied admirably. Even Trent was surprised by their ferocity, and throughout the fight his verbal jabs toward Caleb only brought down a rain of fury and vengeance on him. It was Caleb himself who landed the debilitating blow, forcing Trent to his knees. For several triumphant seconds it seemed that they’d won, but then Trent reached into his coat for the components for one last spell._

_Beau had been in his face almost from the moment he’d appeared, harrying his spellcasting and refusing to let him put any distance between them. Her jabs had broken ribs, and one nasty blow had shattered Trent’s left cheek. But he had enough left in him to speak his death curse into existence and, unfortunately for Beau, she was the closest._

_“By the next moonrise you shall die—a slow, agonizing, irrevocable death, one from which no resurrection can summon you.”_

_The damning words left Ikithon’s lips and wrapped around Beau’s very soul, crushing the life from her slowly. Her gasp of agony echoed across the chamber, followed quickly by an enraged battle cry. Yasha surged forward from where she’d been flung backward and drove her sword deep into the man’s chest as Beau crumpled behind her. Trent Ikithon died with a smile on his face._

“It’s not though,” Jester sniffed wetly and reached out to grab Beau’s hand. “It’s not final. It can’t be.”

“Where is that damned healer?” Fjord demanded, pushing to his feet with a grimace of pain. 

The door opened seconds later, admitting two older drow matrons and a stout goblin man. The two drow were laden with bandages, salves and ointments and they set to work on the rest of the Nein as the goblin climbed up onto the bed with Beau.

“What happened?” His fingers were quick and clever, and Caleb recognized the arcane signs for detection and identification.

“She was targeted by a death curse from a very powerful wizard,” he answered. 

“Please help her,” Jester pleaded.

“Come on,” Fjord turned and wrapped an arm around Jester’s shoulder, “let’s give him room to work.” They stepped back but didn’t go far, using the nearby wall for support as the goblin worked.

“A nasty spell,” he crooned after a few moments. “I’ve never seen anything like this.”

“Can you help her?” Yasha pulled away from the ministrations of the two healers and loomed in the space just over Beau’s head. 

“I will try.”

For almost an hour the two healers worked in near silence, applying salves and bandages to the worst of the wounds. The mage was anything but silent, muttering in both Undercommon and Goblin as he tried to parse through the web of whatever curse was slowly draining Beau’s life force. At the end of the hour, most of the Nein’s wounds were tended and healing, but Beau looked even more frail than before.

As the two healers left with armfuls of bloody bandages and empty vials, another figure appeared in the doorway. 

“I came as soon as I heard,” Essek glided through the doorway smoothly and stopped a few feet from the group. “How is she, Azmil?”

The goblin looked up from the intense inspection of his latest probing spell. “It’s...not good, Shadowhand.”

“What do you mean ‘not good?’” Jester wailed. “You have to fix her!” Fjord tightened his grip on her shoulder, and she turned into his chest with a sob.

“I’m sorry,” Azmil shook his head sadly, speaking more to Essek than the others. “I’ve never seen a spell like this. It’s like it’s consuming her from the inside. I’ve tried ridding her of the necrotic energy, but it’s holding strong.”

“May I try?” Essek offered, stepping closer.

Azmil stepped back with a small wave and climbed down to give him room to work. Essek laid a firm hand on Caleb’s shoulder as he came to rest by Beau’s bed, offering a little comfort. Caleb had refused treatment by the healers, and his ruined hand rested in his lap as his other remained wrapped around Beau’s fingers. His eyes hadn’t left her face in over an hour, but as Essek gripped his shoulder he finally blinked and looked up at his friend through watery eyes.

“I will do whatever I can,” Essek promised, and Caleb finally nodded. They traded spots, and the drow sank down on the small space between Beau’s arm and the edge of the mattress.

The seconds ticked by, and Caleb counted each one of them as Essek worked. Spell after spell left his lips, some Caleb recognized and others he didn’t. He’d never seen the drow sweat before, but as the second hour came and went, a sheen of perspiration broke out on Essek’s forehead. Through it all, Yasha kept her silent vigil over Beau’s head, and the others remained just a short distance away. Fjord had managed to get Jester to sit on the bed next to Veth, and he and Caduceus stood just behind it watching intently. 

“I...I don’t understand,” Essek whispered. “This isn’t possible.”

Caleb’s heart sank as defeat settled on his friend’s shoulders like a heavy blanket. “What? What is it?”

“It’s like there’s a vice wrapped around her very spirit, and it’s slowly squeezing the life from her. I tried to unravel the threads of the spell, but whoever cast it is…” Essek sighed and pulled his hands back from Beau’s face. “I’ve never seen such malice. It’s as if the spell was crafted from the essence of evil itself.”

“What does that mean?” Veth asked. “Can you help her?”

Essek’s silence was all the answer they needed. Jester’s wail of grief was drowned out only by Yasha’s scream, both sounds echoing off of the slate walls and amplifying their anguish. Fjord finally came forward, pushing past Azmil as he spoke.

“I don’t accept that,” he said fiercely. “Beau would not give up on us, we cannot give up on her.”

“I am truly sorry,” Essek’s tone was low and even, though there was no mistaking the sorrow that tinged his words. “If it was a spell I was more familiar with, I might be able to do something. But this…” he looked down at Beau’s prone body and frowned. “At least tell me whoever did this is dead.”

“He is.” Caleb was eerily calm as his eyes slid from Essek’s regretful expression to Beau’s unconscious form. 

“Then at least she is avenged.” Essek reached out again and clapped Caleb’s shoulder softly. “I’m truly sorry, my friend.”

Soft cries filled the chamber as Fjord, Jester and Veth crowded around Beau’s bed. Caduceus stepped up next to Yasha, offering silent support to the warrior woman as she held her vigil with tears in her eyes. Caleb stared at his friend, his sister, for a moment more before turning to Essek’s retreating form.

“I need to talk to the Bright Queen.”

Essek paused and turned with a single raised eyebrow. “Now?”

“Now,” Caleb confirmed.

“I’m not sure where she is—”

“Then find her,” Caleb snapped. 

“Caleb,” Jester called through her sobs. “You should stay here, with us.”

He turned with a sad smile. “Staying here will not help her.”

There was a brief moment of silence as Caleb and Essek stared at one another. Then the drow nodded. “Then we will find her. Come.”

*********************

The Cathedral of the Bright Queen was as brightly lit as ever, though there were only a handful of attendants and Den elders around her. As Caleb and Essek walked up the steps to the central platform, she looked down expectantly.

“Bright Queen,” Caleb bowed low and quickly. “I am sorry to disturb you on such short notice, but it is a matter of some urgency.”

“Yes,” Leylas Kryn answered evenly. “I have been informed of your rather sudden arrival, as well as the fate of your friend. I offer my condolences to you and your Den.”

“Thank you, Umavi. In truth, that is part of the reason I am here.”

His abruptness startled her, though she didn’t take offense. “Oh?”

“It has been several years since we first came to this court and returned your stolen beacon,” Caleb spoke calmly and evenly, even though his heart hammered away in his chest. “And after all of those years, I would like to think we have proven ourselves not only the Heroes of the Dynasty you once proclaimed us, but friends to your people as well.”

The Bright Queen nodded solemnly in agreement. “You and yours have performed many great deeds for our people, and I believe we have shown our appreciation many times over.”

“You have. But I come to you today with a humble request, one I hope you will consider thoroughly.”

“And it is?”

Caleb took a deep breath and held his head high. He could show no hesitation or disrespect, but the importance of his request could not be understated. “I would like Beauregard Lionett to be consecuted before her death.”

Murmurs rolled across the cathedral as the gathered attendants and elders spoke over one another. The Bright Queen let them go for a moment before holding up one hand for silence. It fell immediately.

“What you ask is...unusual, to say the least.” She glanced to her right where Skysibil Mirimm sat then back again. “I am not sure you understand the implications of your request.”

“I understand that one of my family is dying,” Caleb answered resolutely. “And I understand that there is a way for her spirit to continue on, even if this life for her is over. All I am asking is that you consider my request with all of the wisdom and compassion you possess.”

The Bright Queen turned away from him, her voice too low to hear as she spoke with Mirimm and another drow woman that looked very familiar. It took a moment to place her, but upon further scrutiny there was no mistaking the matron of Den Thelyss, Essek’s mother. Seconds stretched to minutes as the three of them spoke in hushed tones, until finally the Bright Queen turned back to Caleb with a slight frown.

“Being consecuted is normally a long, arduous process. It is comprised of many tasks to prove one’s faithfulness to the Luxon, as well as many days of meditation to ensure one’s soul is worthy of enduring. The ceremony itself lasts for nearly a full day. Because of this, only the most worthy of souls are given the honor.” The Bright Queen stood from her throne and descended the steps to speak with Caleb face to face. “For an outsider to become consecuted is almost unheard of.”

The small glimmer of hope that had begun to glow in Caleb’s chest dimmed, and he took a single step forward. It was a testament to the Dynasty’s trust in him that no one reacted. “I implore you,” he began, taking another step, “please, find a way. She does not deserve this. I brought this end to her, and if I could take her place in death I would.” Tears stung his eyes, and he fell to his knees at the feet of the Bright Queen. Pain blossomed from his crushed hand, throbbing in time with his heartbeat, though he barely noticed it as he hung his head and sobbed. “I don’t...I don’t know what else to do.”

It was several long moments before the Bright Queen spoke, but when she did it was as loud and clear as a bell. “I do.”

Caleb looked up at her silhouetted by the bright sphere suspended from the ceiling. She was an imposing figure even from far away, but up close he was reminded that the leader of the Kryn Dynasty was a formidable warrior. She had lived over twelve centuries, had seen the Calamity with her own eyes. And now she was offering him her hand.

“Serve me,” she continued. “Your talents have been well-documented and praised by Den Thelyss,” she glanced up at Essek standing at the edge of the central platform before dropping her eyes back to Caleb. “And we both you know have no love for the Empire. If you swear fealty to me and agree to become a member of the Lens, to renounce any allegiance to the Dwendalian Empire and remain a subject of the Dynasty for all time, then what you ask will be attempted.”

The offer blindsided him, and for a moment Caleb could not speak. For so long he’d been careful about just how far he and the others were willing to go in regards to loyalty to either side. They’d been walking a tightrope for many years now, and successfully. In the span of just a few heartbeats, everyone Caleb had ever known in the Empire flashed through his mind. He would be saying goodbye to all of them, forever. If he accepted the Bright Queen’s offer, he could walk freely among the two nations but could never truly go home again. 

“For clarification,” he stepped carefully, still on his knees looking up at her outstretched hand, “your condition is for me alone, yes? You are not requesting this of the rest of my group?”

“Your Den has been very helpful,” she returned just as earnestly, “but it is you alone who would be beholden to me.”

Caleb tried to play out every possible scenario, to examine all of the outcomes in order to choose the correct course of action. But the image of Beauregard’s pale and lifeless face swam in his mind’s eye, and he could focus on nothing else. He had to save her in whatever way he could, even if that meant sacrificing his own freedom.

“Then I agree to your terms, Umavi.” He reached and grasped her fingers in his good hand, raising up just enough to press her knuckles to his forehead in supplication. “Thank you.”

“Do not thank me yet, Master Widogast. The consecution still may not work. It’s never been tried with a human before.”

“If there is a chance, then we must take it.”

“Shadowhand Thelyss,” the Bright Queen stepped back and glanced up at Essek. “How long does she have?”

“A day, Umavi. Maybe less.”

“Then we must make the preparations quickly. Rise,” she ushered Caleb to his feet. “We will speak later. Right now you should be with your Den.” He bowed low again and turned to go, stopping only when she called for him. “Get your hand tended to, then gather your Den to say goodbye. We will need as much time as possible for the ceremony.”

“Yes, Umavi.” 

****************

After explaining to the others what transpired in the throne room and weathering precious moments arguing about the implications, the Nein stepped out into the hallway to give each person the privacy to say goodbye. Time stood still as Caleb waited. For the first time since he could remember, his mind didn’t not count the moments that passed as one by one his family disappeared into the room and emerged again with tear-streaked faces and red eyes.

“Caleb?” Fjord’s soft whisper accompanied a firm hand on his shoulder. “Yasha just got done. Essek says they’re going to come for her soon.”

Caleb nodded and pushed away from where he’d been leaning on the wall, one hand curled over Veth’s shoulder consolingly. It was his turn. Every muscle in his body turned to lead, and suddenly the distance between him and the door seemed insurmountable. Slow, resigned shuffles measured each step, and he felt the eyes of his family on his back as his fingers wrapped around the handle.

Beau was still lying on the bed closest the door, and if he hadn’t known better Caleb would have believed her to just be resting. Her face was finally relaxed, though the shallow, stuttering rise and fall of her chest belied her true condition. He stood just inside the doorway, unable to move, just counting her breaths, aware that she had less than a day remaining in her much too short life.

_Move._

Spurred on by a voice in his head that sounded suspiciously like Beau, Caleb shuffled over to her bed and sat gingerly in the space next to her hip. His eyes stung and her image blurred as more tears gathered, though he refused to let them fall. He reached out and grasped her hand in his, wincing at the ice cold chill that crept up his arm. With his free hand he snapped his fingers, and a small bengal cat appeared on the floor. Frumpkin trilled mournfully and jumped onto the bed, bypassing Caleb with a quick bump of his head and settling onto Beau’s stomach with a soft purr.

“Beauregard,” he whispered. “From the moment we met, I thought you were a brash, hot-headed asshole. I was right, but somehow I grew to care for you anyway.” He smiled sadly, and in his head he heard her echoing chuckle at his joke. “I...I’m sorry. I brought this upon you all, and now you’re paying the price for my failures. But we got him, in the end. Trent is dead.” He hung his head, unwilling to look at her near-lifeless form as he continued. “I do not know if I did the right thing by asking for you to be consecuted. I don’t know if that is something you would have wished for. But I am a selfish man by nature, and I cannot bear the thought of living in a world without any piece of you in it.”

He reached out and scratched Frumpkin under his chin, allowing the fey creature to rub against his fingers for a moment as he collected his thoughts. “You gave me the greatest gift one friend can give another. You gave me purpose, and support, and love. You showed me that I wasn’t defined solely by the actions of my past, but by the hopes of my future. You are _meine schwester_ , you gave me a family again, and my life will be a darker, less vibrant place without you. I mean, who else is going to go on a four-day library retreat with me?” 

He raised her hand and turned it to interlock their thumbs in a weak imitation of their usual handshake. His throat ached with the force of holding back his sorrow, but he pushed the word past his lips despite the pain. “Holla.”

Tears spilled down his cheeks as he kissed the back of her hand. “Goodbye, Beauregard Lionett. I hope we meet again someday.”

He let her go and stood, leaving Frumpkin curled up on her stomach. He stumbled slightly as he reached the door, and he cast one last look at his friend before slipping out to join his family.

********************

_15 Years Later…_

It was quiet at the Xhorhaus with the Nein on holiday. Veth and Jester had returned to Nicodranus to spend a few weeks with their families, while Caduceus and Fjord were on some Wildmother retreat up north. Only Yasha remained in Xhorhas, though Caleb had not seen her in some weeks. 

He spent most of his time in his library researching new uses for the dunamantic arts that he’d been taught over the years. Essek had proven a good teacher, and Caleb a capable student. Together they unlocked powerful magics that bolstered the Xhorhasian forces and ensured that the Empire would never again gain a foothold within the Dynasty. Over the years, Caleb had performed many services with the Lens, from espionage to research, and all of it in service to the Bright Queen. He’d upheld his end of their bargain, despite no reassurances that she’d done the same.

_Only at the end of the consecution ceremony did they find out that there was no way to tell if it even worked. No human had ever been consecuted before, and as such there was no precedent for its success. At first Caleb was outraged and had railed rather vehemently against the Bright Queen. But then Caduceus laid a heavy hand on his shoulder and pulled him into a smothering embrace, his voice a calm beacon in a turbulent storm._

_“You once told me that children in Nogvurot had been kidnapped, but were actually souls from the beacon that had come of age and returned here. If they can be reborn as humans, then there should be no reason to think that a soul cannot be consecuted if it begins in a human.” He released Caleb and stepped back, though his large hands remained like an anchor on his shoulders. “A soul is the essence of a person. It doesn’t know race or religion or creed. Beau’s will be fine.”_

Caleb had taken a measure of solace in his words, but deep down there was a part of him that truly believed it hadn’t worked. It had been a desperate play, one meant to carve a small sliver of positivity from a horrible situation, but Caleb knew there was no reason to believe the universe would be kind enough to grant him this. His failure to save Beauregard was just one more transgression to add to an already insurmountable list of sins. But he’d given his word, and so just one day after Beauregard had taken her final breath, Caleb knelt in the Cathedral of the Bright Queen and swore himself to her. 

The copper tubes hung above the front door of Xhorhaus chimed, echoing down the empty hall to the library. Frumpkin meowed insistently and pawed at the closed door before darting back to Caleb and winding around his ankles.

“Must be Essek.” He smiled and reached down to scratch Frumpkin’s head, abandoning his most recent journal in anticipation of his guest. “You only get that excited for him.”

“Caleb?” Essek’s voice floated through the door, and seconds later it opened. His drow heritage meant the Shadowhand looked much the same as he had on the day they’d met, though the intervening years of companionship had done wonders for his demeanor. He was smiling as he stepped into the library, casting only a cursory glance around the space before returning his gaze to Caleb.

“Essek,” Caleb greeted, “to what do I owe the pleasure?”

Essek looked...Caleb would have said _eager_ if he hadn’t known better. His friend was still hovering slightly off the ground, but if he hadn’t, Caleb would have sworn he’d have been bouncing on his toes.

“I wanted to introduce you to someone,” Essek said much too brightly, then turned and held his hand out to someone just out of Caleb’s field of vision. “Come here, child. It’s alright.”

Light footsteps brought a young drow girl into the doorway to stand next to Essek. Her hair was stark white and short like Essek’s, though the sweep of it was more suited to her feminine features. She was dressed in simple clothes, a deep purple tunic over cream pants and black boots. Around her neck, a familiar pendant in the shape of a beacon gleamed in the light. Her dark red eyes cast about the space wildly, as if trying to absorb everything at once, before landing on Caleb. He stared back, unable to tear his eyes away from this girl, this child. There was something so familiar about her, but Caleb was sure he’d never seen her before.

“Caleb,” Essek laid a hand on the girl’s shoulder, “this is Arinda, the newest member of Den Thelyss. She has recently undergone her anamnesis, and through her guided meditation she has unlocked her past life.” 

His words were too pointed to be anything but purposeful. Caleb’s heart began thundering in his chest, and he rose to his feet slowly as his mind whirled through the math. Careful measured steps took him to her, and the longer he stared into her eyes, the more he was sure. _It’s her_ , his mind screamed. _It has to be her_. She stood completely still as he searched her face, and though it was a stranger who stared back he looked for any sign that what he believed was true. 

Then Arinda smiled, her mouth pulling into a familiar, teasing slant, and she reached up to rest her hand on his shoulder. “Holla.”

“Beauregard.” Caleb wrapped his arms around her shoulders, folding her into a fierce hug that drove the wind from her lungs. Her gasp of surprise was drowned out by a single dry sob that left Caleb’s lips as he embraced the smaller form of Beauregard’s new life. “It worked.”

“Yeah,” she hugged him back, and though it felt completely different from the last time they’d embraced, Caleb could not deny the sense of homecoming that warmed him. “It worked.”

Something crashed into their legs insistently, and Beauregard— _Arinda_ , Caleb’s mind corrected—let him go to kneel down and pet Frumpkin. “How ya doin’, buddy? Did you miss me?”

Arinda— _or is she Beauregard?_ —stood with Frumpkin in her arms. The fey cat was purring so loudly that Caleb was afraid he’d vibrate right back onto the floor, but he looked more content than Caleb had seen him in a long time. 

“Where is everyone?” she asked.

“Here and there,” Caleb answered. “But they will want to know about this as soon as possible.” He looked up over the girl’s shoulder and caught Essek’s eye. “I have...so many questions.”

Essek laughed. “I thought you might. She does, as well.” He turned and gestured toward the rest of the house just beyond the hall. “How about we retire to the kitchen and answer them over some of Caduceus’ tea?”

**Author's Note:**

> Here it is. The mindworm that took hold of me last week and wouldn't let go. I think it came out a bit less angsty than I had in my head, but I guess I can't torture them too much. 
> 
> I thought about continuing this with all of the members of the Nein, because I think it'd be really cool if they all eventually became consecuted, or at least were given the opportunity. I think there are a couple that wouldn't do it, but it might be interesting to explore. What say you, gentle readers? Would you like to see more?


End file.
